Thus Sayeth The Ford

Thursday, August 31, 2006

Though, for what it's worth, your family doesn't think getting hit in the head with a batted ball hurt you too much. Good to know, really.

In other news, The Ford's thinking this is the fourth or fifth Mariner pitcher to get hit in the head in the past 13 years. (Not counting Josias Manzanillo, who got hit in his Manzanillos while not wearing a cup on the mound for the M's. Oy.)

Just off the top of his head, so to speak, there was Brad Holman. (who played a very formative part in The Ford's journalistic career, as a just recovered Holman spoke to The Ford's 10th grade English class about what it was like to GET HIT IN THE HEAD WITH A BATTED BALL. Long story short? It hurt. A lot.)

One is a hilarious romp through the ivy-covered hills of the University of Orego...er... "Faber College," while the other one is a slightly less-hilarious (though moderately engrossing in its own way) romp through the God-forsaken hills of, um, Syriana?

Guess which one The Ford and two other guys fell asleep during. (Hint: it wasn't the one featuring Karen Allen and Sarah Holcomb.)

Really, this just shows that Rams fans are all right, even if their team is a bunch of misbegotten no-goodniks who have caused The Ford no end of worry over the past five years.

And yes, The Ford remembers whupping the Rams all of last season. He's still not going to give up rooting against the Rams until remembering one of the five collapses against them in the past decade stops making him throw up a little each time.

Monday, August 28, 2006

The Ford is feeling good -- too good, really, considering his day.

Not much happened, other than work, and, well, a welcome trip to the BK. (The Extreme Spicy Tendercrisp Chicken Sandwich, aside from having a ridiculously long name, is pretty tasty. It's not THAT spicy, i.e., warm enough to clear out your sinuses, but the jalapenos do push it into the "don't eat without some sort of beverage handy" range. Then again, the BK stacker is also in that range, and not in a good way.)

Oh, and the other big thing that happened?

Well, while The Ford relaxes, The Official Truck is a bit under the weather, suffering catastrophic tire failure while sitting in The Official Garage. The Ford's not quite clear how it happened, there beign a limited number of folks with access to both The Official Truck and The Official Garage, but, in any event, The Ford's not here to point fingers.

No, instead, The Ford will just go to the friendly neighborhood tire store in the next couple of days, thanks to The Official Spare Tire, and replace The Official Tires.

Granted, these will be the first new tires in the 4 1/2-year history of The Official Truck, but The Ford is confident both he and The Official Truck will be back to normal in no time.

3.) Colby Lewis freaks out The Ford. Not because of his pitching skills. (Though it was nice to see him come in last night, and, following The Ford's scouting report of "good fastball, sharp change, needs a third pitch," to his companions, throw 3 pitches: 89, 79, 93.)

No, Mr. Lewis freaks out The Ford with his first name.

Colby?

Wasn't that the dude on the first Survivor?

Maybe if The Ford had actually watched any of the Survivors, he'd have a better idea.

He'd probably still be freaked out, though.

4.) Sean Casey did something weird in the 5th inning. Maybe.

See, while watching the game, The Ford thought he'd singled to left field, off the third baseman's glove.

That's pretty much what 40,000 other Tigers fans thought, too.

Only Casey thought his liner was caught by the third baseman, and stopped running.

By the time, he figured out the ball was still in play, it was already inbound from left field to first base, where, of course, Casey was out by a large margin.

Fast-forward two hours, as The Ford's attempting to fact-check his thoughts, and you get this entry in the play-by-play: "S. Casey grounded out to third."

Sure, he's good, and he had some stuff working Thursday, but he wasn't shutout-good.

Then again, when Brian "No, really, it wasn't a mistake trading Aaron Rowand to give me a job" Anderson makes a diving catch in left-center, taking away a probably triple, and Big Juan makes an amazing spin to throw out a runner at first, AND The Mayor GROUNDS OUT TO LEFT FIELD, well, you're not gonna give up a lot of runs.

OK, the bile is rising again. Time for The Ford to do something not involving baseball. Maybe.

6.) If you need a alcoholic drink to bring you out of your boozing nice and peacefully, without having to worry about chugging a large amount of alcohol, borrow a stripper's drink. All nice and watered down, no waiting.

Wednesday, August 23, 2006

Especially since, unlike the last time the Tigers were REALLY good -- 1984 -- the team had a catchy slogan for the season. (OK, 1987 was the last time the Tigers made the postseason, but, well, that team struggled a bit, and then lost every road playoff game to the Twins. Should be fun if the Twins get the wild card...)

OK, actually, two catchy slogans: "The Roar of '84" and "Bless You Boys."

Now, speaking solely as an amateur baseball anthropologist, reconstucting that season from hours of painstaking overtime work researching a book for The Official Newspaper, The Ford can't say whether these slogans were truly popular in 1984, or just latched onto by the media, much like, say, Lindsey Lohan's breasts/anorexia or that chick who got killed in Aruba.

Other than, of course, "Quick Rick kicks Nikki Sixx, who predicts a mix of cliques full of hicks and dicks to watch the Tigers win it all in '06."

But, really, would you buy that T-shirt?

OK, perhaps you would, but, really, it's still a bit goofy.

Anyway, The Ford's out of rhymes for the word "six," and doesn't want to explore the other path to a successful slogan, since Jim Price, Dan Dickerson, Rod Allen and Mario Impemba don't add up to half a Ernie Harwell.

Till then, rejoice in the thought of what it might be like to be Prince Harry. Very odd thoughts indeed.

Tuesday, August 22, 2006

In fact, his coworkers got a taste of The Official Insanity, when The Ford wrote down -- in writing, no less -- that the 'Hawks would WIN THE SUPER BOWL.

Now, some might view that as either crazy, or an act of hubris designed to bring down the wrath of the gods.

Much like Matt Hasselbeck's "We'll take the ball, and we're gonna SCORE!"

But The Ford, well, he sees that as one of the greatest moments in Seahawks history.

Sure, you can have your Monday Night Football moments, and your drive to Super Bowl XL.

The Ford, he'll take the first time in his life he can remember being truly confident in the Seahawks. What's more, it was the first time he can remember anyone else, associated with the team or not, being truly confident.

Because when they list The Ford's Tecmo Super Bowl accomplishments on his tombstone -- and they will, by God -- they'll say, "Eschewed using Bo Jackson for many years, on multiple platforms, and made Stan Gelbaugh -- and Scott Zolak -- Pro Bowl QBs on the Super Nintendo.

(The Ford also made Robb Thomas a Pro Bowl wide receiver with both the Chiefs on the Nintendo and with the 'Hawks on the SNES, but, well, when you're working with the gold that is Stan Gelbaugh, it can't help but rub off on others.)

Monday, August 21, 2006

The Ford doesn't attempt to deny his cracker blood.

Dang it, he digs the NASCAR. Something in him gets sated when he sees tiny men in big cars driving six inches from each other.

You may mock The Ford, but try living in Michigan -- where the left turn is practically banned in favor of the protected U-turn between intersections -- and see if guys turning left at 190 mph doesn't rev you up.

And then, of course, there's the comedy.

Sometimes, it's like a parody of itself, such as when you had two Buschwhackers (that'd be Nextel Cup stars dropping down to race in the minors for the fame, money and practice time) going at each other post-race. (Yes, The Ford will once again shill for The Official Newspaper. Blame The Official Competition for not having the best quote of the day...)

The setup: No. 2 Dale Earnhardt Jr. bumps leader Carl Edwards from behind on the next-to-last lap, sending him spinning out across the track, and costing him a win. Edwards recovers, drives into pit row, where he parks in front of Jr.'s pit station, before racing back out onto the track during Jr.'s victory lap. Edwards rams Jr. at about a 45-degree angle, bouncing off after giving Jr. -- who, oblivious, had his hand sticking out the window -- quite the shock.

After the race, well, there were some hard feelings.

And it all culminated in this quote from Jr.: "But running into the side of my car after the race is over with my hand out the window, coming into a man's victory lane... no matter what the circumstances are on the racetrack, you don't go into someone else's victory lane. That's rude. That's just uncouth. There, I used it. I've been trying to use that word all year. He has no couth."

Sunday, August 20, 2006

On one hand, The Ford admits the inherent obviousness of this. Mainly while briskly walking among the various abondoned buildings downtown.

On the other hand, well, that hand's a bit busy, mulling over the various experiences The Ford and The Official Associates of The Official Blog have had in just a few months in town. He could elaborate, but, well, there's laws against that sort of thing...

On the third hand (yeah, The Ford has three hands. Wanna make somethin' of it?), this is a travesty that must be rectified in the next poll.

It's probably for women like The Ford, too, but they're few and far between. Might as well be postulating the existence of the quark as discuss women like The Ford.

So we won't.

Instead, let's discuss The Official Saturday To-Do List of The Official Blog of The Ford:

1.) Work. (This one's pretty self-explanatory; it takes money for The Ford to hack into his neighbors' Wi-Fi, don'cha'know...)

2.) Work overtime. (Again, the whole money thing. And something about the thrill of a job well-done. Not quite as satisfying as a steak well-done, but what it lacks in satisfaction, it makes up for in taking longer to complete.)

3.) Purchase Tigers tickets for the next couple of games The Ford's hoping to attend. (Yes, just 4 months removed from basically having to bribe people into attending Tigers games with him, The Ford is now forced to plan ahead, and actually buy tickets -- bad tickets, no less -- in advance. If The Ford wasn't a man of the future, and not a man of the past, he'd be a bit miffed at this.)

4.) Find a bar. (This one's pretty much locked down. Y'know, The Official Bar of The Official Blog. It's Official for a reason, eh?)

5.) Hoist a beer to the mighty Cougs of Washington State, past and present, wherever they may be. (Two were recently sighted in Cleveland beating the hell out of the Lions. OK, one Coug (Jerome Harrison) beat the hell out of the Lions, the other (Kyle Basler) just punted. Twice. So there.)

6.) Drink said beer.

7.) Hoist a beer to the mighty Tigers of Detroit.

8.) Repeat Item No. 6.

9.) Hoist a beer to the less-than-mighty Mariners, who surely will have scored at least once by this time tomorrow. (Unlike The Ford.)

10.) Repeat Item Nos. 6,8.

11.) Realize that all this hoisting is getting to be a pain, and just start drinking beers silently.

12.) Realize how creepy it is to drink beer silently, and possibly ogle hot babes.

13.) Go some place where it's moderately acceptable to ogle hot babes while silently drinking beer: The laundromat! (No, not the laundromat. Some place else. Probably.)

14.) Play Golden Tee.

15.) Suck at Golden Tee. (OK, maybe Nos. 14 and 15 are one thing, but The Ford, looking to The Official Future, still holds out hope that he might get in one good game before falling apart in a spasm of yips. And, really, when you get the yips in electronic golf, you've got a problem.)

16.) Eat. (This one will probably come a little earlier in the list, actually, but who can say, really?)

Friday, August 18, 2006

But if you think The Ford's gonna back off on his assertion that not only are you not the world's hottest woman, per Esquire's opinion, but that you are not even in the top 10, well, you've got another think coming.

At least until you show up at The Official Apartment in a desperate attempt to sway The Ford one final time.

It's this saying that keeps The Ford able to be friends with some of his acquaitainces who attended The Official Rival, even though, well, choosing to go to U-Dub is like choosing to root for the Yankees, the Cowboys, John Elway and Satan, all in one fell swoop.

It's the same thought that keeps The Ford able to enjoy Lou Holtz, even though he coached at Notre Dame.

(Thus Digresses The Ford: The Ford hates Notre Dame. The Ford hates the University of Michigan. The University of Michigan hates Notre Dame. Notre Dame hates the University of Michigan. Who then, should The Ford hate -- and who should The Ford root for around Sept. 16, when the two schools meet in their yearly "Battle for the Hearts and Minds of Heartless and Mindless Midwest Football fans"? Easy answer: A bus crash. Then again, that might take out some innocent bystanders on I-94. So, The Ford will choose to root for, um, er, ah, hell, Michigan. He's already gonna burn in hell. Might as well add a few verses of "Hail to the Victors" to his stay...)

Lou Holtz returned the Irish to dominance in the 80s and 90s, and then blew it. Did the same at South Carolina, though there, at least, he managed to bring in one of The Ford's FAVORITE coaches, The Official Ol' Ballcoach, before he left.

So, obviously, Mr. Holtz is approaching redemption.

A journey that took a bit of a step back with the publishing of his new book, which features him in full Notre Dame regalia.

Then again, were Darth Vader to publish a book, you can be damn sure he'd be wearing the cape and breather, and not using some lame-ass shots of him as Anakin Skywalker.

Plus, The Ford's got to admire a quick glance at Mr. Holtz's pithy aphorisms. (Though none of them are as good as this exchange: " 'What's the difference between Notre Dame and Cheerios?' a waiter asked Lou Holtz before the 1992 Sugar Bowl: 'Cheerios belong in a bowl.' 'What's the difference between me and a golf pro?' Holtz replied: 'A golf pro gives tips.' " )

Wednesday, August 16, 2006

Yes, it's The Official Random Final Day Off of the week, which means this post will likely be faily lame/mailed-in... The Ford feels bad about it, but well, You're not paying for it, dear reader, and The Ford's gotta sleep sometime...

Normally, with the announcement that The Ford's phoning it in, well, obviously, that's when he nuts up and delivers 900 words on something as inane as the Miss Universe Pageant. Tonight, though, well, he's already abandoned traditional punctuation, and broken out not one, but TWO elipses. And you know, he can feel another one coming, right .... here.

Of course, he's waiting for his laundry to finish, so he can run it for another drying cycle -- The Ford likes his undies piping hot, damn the environment -- so it's time to break out the trusty stream-of-conciousness approach.

In other news, The Official Competition has Detroit "hooked on hookahs," which, really, is just begging for a good Michigan Avenue joke. Of course, The Ford is fresh out of good Michigan Avenue jokes, so he's just gonna retreat into the happy memory of seeing his first hooker walking near Dearborn. And his vaguely less happy memory of seeing his first hookah, standing still with some high school hipsters in Royal Oak. Then again, considering the pictures of the gals staring at the camera as they suck on a heated tube, well, it's not as farfetched a connection as The Ford first thought. (Yeah, in one fell swoop, The Ford's ruined smoking devices and prostitutes for himself. A solid night's work.)

Of course, you read about the hookahs, and you're hit by this quote: "For Gerrit Littrup's 18th birthday, friends bought him a 35-inch hookah from Israel that they use several times a week in their parents' homes.'They don't like it,' said Littrup, of Bloomfield Hills, 'but I am 18, so they can't really do anything about it.' "

Other than, y'know, kick his 18-year-old rear out o' the house.

(The Ford's not sure whether he's bitter at Mr. Littrup because by age 18 he was already working on his second year of college -- and not spending a lot of time at his parents' place -- or just some weirdly viral dislike of Bloomfield Hills kids held by downtown Detroiters. Probably the former; they've got some good restaurants out in Bloomfield Hills.)Not at all related to hookahs or hookers, meanwhile, it's time to check in with the surprisingly deep world of NFL cheerleaders:

Because there's nowhere else one can go to get semi-risque photos of NFL cheerleaders? (And, for what it's worth, considering The Ford's exhaustive and exhausting coverage of the NBA Dance Team bracket, when is the NFL gonna get it's dance team playoffs going? The Ford's putting big money down on the SeaGals, if only because he went to school with one of them.)2.) It's not unusual... to open for Tom Jones.Not much here, other than to note that, a.) Miami's cheerleaders are fine with about 8 "I's" (perhaps a Miami cheerleading dynasty in the making after a dominating win in the NBA world?) and, b.) Tom Jones looks really weird -- alternate-universe-Star-Trek universe weird -- with the Van Dyke.

3.) One of these things is not like the other...Oh, Baltimore. The Ford knew you'd had it rough, but, seriously, dudes as cheerleaders? Unless there's at least three human pyramids per game, The Ford's gonna feel cheated.

4.) Oklahoma, OK!OK, The Ford knows that teams don't usually take their dance squads with them when they change cities. But it might make for a damn interesting TV show to take the five winners of THIS reality show -- who will dance for the Sonics dance team this season -- and ship 'em to OKC for a year. Then again, Seattle doesn't need to EXPORT any hot women, y'know?

5.) Best. Ice Capades. Ever.Five words: NHL. Cheerleaders. On. Ice. Seriously. Did Janet Jones have something to do with this? 'Cause The Ford might put down money on how soon the first concussion for the Coyotes' "Pack" happens. Then again, 16 of 30 NHL teams have some sort of dance squad, so maybe they know what they're doing.

Tuesday, August 15, 2006

For anyone who doubts that downtown Detroit is a very tiny -- albeit pleasant -- area, The Ford presents his Monday night, where, walking to a bar to drink and play Golden Tee (The Ford has made peace with his lameness, thankyewvurrymuch) , he ran into The Official Friend from The Official Bar, going to meet his cousin for dinner. A few beers later -- plus a game of Golden Tee; The Ford's not completely without the wherewithall to complete his sad plans -- well, The Ford was meeting some entirely new folks, some of whom were willing to forgive a willingness to ignore the scantily clad women hanging about The Ford in favor of mid-game highlights from The Oakland/Seattle game. Proving that, once again, something truly horrible happened in The Ford's brain when he bacame an M's fan.

And then The Ford ended up back at The Official Bar, meeting people who work at The Official Newspaper, and at The Official Competition, most of whom know one of The Ford's best friends.

Did he mention that it's a small damn town, especially when you exist mostly within a 2-square-mile region?

In other news, Sleater-Kinney -- self-named for one of The Ford's favorite streets in The Official Home Region -- is going on hiatus. The Ford's not entirely sure what that entails, but he's pretty sure it means he won't ever be seeing them in concert.

Ms. Page is getting a second life -- albeit in strictly 2-dimensional form -- back home in Seattle ... (Oh, and let's stop to note two things... 1.) The Ford has used "albeit" waaaay too much here; he may have to break out "whom" pretty soon... and 2.) It's the real Bettie Page, and not Gretchen Mol, who, while incredibly hot in hier own way, doesn't hold a candle to Ms. Page.)

The Ford has a new list of words to work into his daily usage, albe... er, though, he might have to stretch a bit to get "gobtheknob" out there. All the rest, though, well, he's got down... (Too bad he's got Cingular phone coverage, which presumably has a similar list which is better protected...)

Joel Stein gets on board The Ford's anti-Elmo train, even as The Ford patiently waits for his bouquet of balloons (featuring a talking-Elmo balloon) to die. Of course, Mr. Stein also lambasts the folks who talk in the third person, which The Ford can't help but feel a bit offended by. Nevertheless...

Monday, August 14, 2006

Y'know, The Ford's fond of saying, whenever there's a player taking out his frustrations on his bat or his glove, that "a good craftsman never blames his tools."

And he truly believes this, no matter how many times he confronts his computer at The Official Newspaper with multiple F-bombs and promises to re-enact the climactic scene from "2001: A Space Odyssey."

Of course, The Ford's personal Torii Hunter (or would that be a personal Torus Hunter?) is a kind and loving Torii Hunter, the funloving soul always up for a walk on the beach or a session of turning water into wine.

Sunday, August 13, 2006

Yes, it's Official Blog Post No. 200, which The Ford might be more willing to make a big stink over, had he celebrated Official Post No. 100 slightly more.

Or, y'know, at all...

Still, here we are, a couple of silver spoons... you waiting for The Ford's recap of an exciting Saturday night, The Ford waiting for whatever it is he waits for. (He's not saying it's porn, but, well, when speaking of delays and the Internet, porn is rarely a poor guess...)

Anyway, it's a big moment, so, in honor of that (and in honor of the best movie The Ford owns on DVD but has yet to unwrap -- no, not My Blue Heaven), we're gonna recap this bad boy Memento-style...

The Ford is standing with a black nylon bra in his hands, wondering what to do with it, wondering why he has it, wondering why, on a Saturday night, it's not satin...

The Ford ignores drunken text message from The Official Freaklet, attending a wedding somewhere in middle America.

The Ford, still at The Official Bar, watches 65 minutes of a movie that features Lance Bass as a guy seeking the girl he met on the subway, who got much, much, much hotter on "Entourage." Debate with waitress and bartender ensues over whether it's hypocritical to be unnerved by gay Lance Bass playing straight reporter, but not unnerved by legions of straight actors playing gay. Lance Bass-as-astronaut/ass-tronaut joke is made by undetermined patron. Debate halted by realization that Joey Fatone is stealing scenes right and left as Lance Bass' best friend, leading to fond recollections of "My Big, Fat, Greek Wedding" by all involved. The Ford may use similar tactic to bring about resolution to Mideast conflict.

The Ford tries not to let The Official NFC Champions'loss in their first preseason game get him thinking about his fears of a 7-9 season.

The Ford meets up with a new bartender at The Official Bar, an unexcepted surprise, though one that makes The Ford feel stupid, since he should have expected it, what with all the other bartenders pretty much on vacation.

The Ford ends up at The Official Sad Strip Club, only to find it, well, looking sad. Truly, it's a far cry from the last visit, on a Thursday, during which he had four guys in his group going to rescue one lone member who'd defected to the world of the lap dance. Of course there was a cover charge. Saturday, when it's just him and The Official Trusty Coworker, no cover, few strippers. Beers still expensive, allowing The Ford to ponder the improbability of a strip club that's busier on a Thursday than a Saturday.

The Ford makes his rounds of the 313's perferred watering holes -- knowing he can say "the 313's" unironically, now that he's gone ahead and gotten a local phone number for his cell -- accompanied by The Official Trusty Coworker, following a slow-but-generally satisfying chimichanga in Greektown. (Yes, The Ford recognizes the absurdity of eating Tex-Mex food in Greektown, with Mexicantown just a couple of miles away, but, well, when The Ford is searching for dinner options concurrent with catching up with The Official Parents, he gets a bit flustered. The Ford supposes that's what two pints of Dos Equis on tap are for.)

The Ford realizes that the new Official Cell Phone seems to think he lives in Royal Oak or Ferndale. Despite many attempts to convince it otherwise, The Official Cell Phone insists that there are only two theaters within The Ford's easy viewing convienence. Thus, The Ford must settle for a call to The Official Parents, to update them on the new number.

The Ford showers. Were this on Cinemax, and were The Ford being played by Shannon Whirry -- or even Shannon Tweed -- this would be the point that thousands of young American males break through puberty and/or run through a box of tissues. Instead, things being what they are, it's just The Ford realizing that he looks damn good after a quick shave/shower, thanks to the rediscovery of a favored sweater in the closet. And dozens of blog readers being grossed out. Can't forget that.

The Ford gets off work early, thanks to a phenomonal work ethic (and a sports schedule that had most every event of interest to Michigan over by 5 p.m.).

The Ford goes into work just 7 hours after leaving the second-longest shift of his stint at The Official Newspaper. Not a good sign, considering the longest shift came only 5 days earlier. The Ford is focused on the Saturday night, he tells himself, sitting down at his disturbingly familiar desk.

The Ford goes to bed after completely forgetting to post a new blog entry. Waking up, he remembers and thinks, "Eh, what could happen in a single Saturday?"

Thursday, August 10, 2006

The Ford wholeheartedly approves, for som may reasons that have already been expounded upon in The Official Blog.

Normally, The Ford's not one to shy away from repeating content, but, well, you can Google The Official Blog as easily as he can.

Nevertheless, it's nice to know The Ford made the right choice in buying the Trib all four days he was in the Windy City last month.

Among other right decisions The Ford has made of late?

1.) Going to the Tigers game on Wednesday -- Sure, the Tigers lost one, but it was a helluva game, and, really, it's just nice to see all of Detroit uniting behind the blue and orange. Even if there are some morons still trying to start the Wave in the 5th inning. (Two guys were trying this. The Ford would've marched down the aisle and tried to stop them, but he was sorta distracted by their female companion drunkenly wearing a tube top. Really, The Ford's not convinced alcohol and tube tops mix all that well, but he's willing to let them try to work it out...

2.) Playing Golden Tee after the Tigers game -- Sure, The Ford didn't paly particularly well, but he needs his daily dose of failure (usually found in working with CCI at The Official Newspaper), or else he'd start getting cocky and referring to himself in the third person. And you wouldn't want The Ford to be that kind of person. 'Cause that's not who The Ford is.

3.) Attending an undetermined club nearby after the Golden Tee debacle -- Sure, you might be aghast at the sheer volume of scantily clad women, but The Ford's going to accept unexpectedly running into a coworker there as a good sign. Or at least a validating sign. Tip of the day: To get a stripper to laugh, start discussing your fear of bears when you're not wearing glasses. Of course, if you don't normally wear glasses, well, then, a fear of bears is just silly. (To digress ... The Ford fears bears when going without glasses only because, at any distance greater than 4 feet, he is unable to distinguish between a very large, very hairy man, and a bear. At least until one or the other mauls him. And thus, The Ford is fairly careful to wear his glasses at all times: No one wants to be mauled by a very large, very hairy man.)

4.) Not commenting on boobs at all -- Sure, Jessica Simpson noted that she has "amazing boobs," but The Ford's gonna hold off on talking about that. Especially when noting that her statement, "At school, my boobs were bigger than all my friends" -- complete with the lack of an apostrophe -- means she either had very tiny friends or very gigantic friends.Luckily, we can judge her boobs on their own merits, since she's apparently caught onto the APPLE plan.No word on whether said friends resembled bears to the myopic, though.

The Ford certainly hopes they didn't. For his sake, at the very least.

Wednesday, August 09, 2006

Yes, The Ford can think of few more decent ways to decompress from a 12-hour shift -- which was, in itself, a decompression from the 36-hour shift worked the two days before -- than to hang out in The Official Bar, chatting with various women with whom The Ford is on a first-name basis with, while not being particularly obligated to do anything rash, like, y'know, hit on them.

It's this sort of relaxation that The Ford thinks Scott Van Pelt sorely needs. Really. So much so that The Ford is willing, once more, in his semi-trumphant return to the world of The Official Blog, to ape Deadspin.

'Cause seriously, while The Ford has actually left messages for people in which he identifies himself as "The Ford" -- a "Rickey, calling on behalf of Rickey" moment if ever there was one -- he still has never left a voice message for a girl he met in a bar identifying himself by his full name.

The Official Rule of The Official Blog of The Ford, No. 64: If you're leaving a voicemail for someone you've met in a bar, and they can't remember you without the use of your last name, perhaps it's not nearly as deep a connection as you thought.

(And because The Ford knows you were wondering... Official Rule No. 1? That'd be "Never leave a bar without using the bathroom within 10 minutes of departure." Sure, it's a bit wordy, but you'll thank The Ford when you've cut your mad-dash-to-the-bathroom-to-avoid-wetting-yourself incidents by 75%)

On one hand, this is disturbing.The notion that a Husky, hated natural enemy of The Ford, would invent the thing he hates the most at baseball games, well, it just seems to tie the whole universe into a neat and tidy knot.

The Wave = Evil. Huskies = The Wave. Therefore, Huskies = Evil.

See? It works.

Then again, the only thing worse than ruining professional sports with the creation of The Wave might just be PRETENDING to create The Wave, when really, you just stole it from a Cubs fan.

This, too, oddly enough, fits into The Ford's view of the world at large.

Four final thoughts, in The Ford's never-ending quest to make a mockery of the phrase "final thoughts," to note:

1.) The Ford feels infinitely better about his extended stint at the Billy Goat in Chicago last week -- shrine to Mike Royko that it is -- after reading this sentence by the Chicago icon: "And if losing wasn't bad enough, we were beaten by a bunch of wimps from a beach-bum city. People who were actually silly enough to make a wave in the stands."

2.) Krazy George might be the only person who hates the Huskies more than The Ford.

3.) The Ford can't remember a single attempt at The Wave in five years at The Official Alma Mater. Perhaps that was because we were all TOO BUSY CHEERING to waste our time paying attention to other fans' actions.

4.) The Ford enjoys paparazzi photos of Jennifer Love Hewitt way too much. Now, most people dig celebrities because they get to do all the stuff regular folks don't, like dress up every night, and leak sex tapes. The Ford supposes that's his fascination with J-Lo-Hew... she seems to being all the stuff that he never gets to, like buying magazines, or grabbing some takeout Chinese.

Though if you're ever accosted bya zombie-looking fellow muttering something about "the book ... the book...", well, try not to shoot him in the head; you're probably drawing down on The Ford.

Seriously, it's a sad, sad state of affairs when you're not only too busy at work to have a life, but you're also too busy to blog about the other folks having a life.

Not that The Ford's complaining -- he saves that for the paying customers -- but, geez, The Ford's starting to feel like a slacker.

Long story short, expect some massive posts later this week, when The Ford's suddenly let out of The Official Newspaper for a weekend.

In the meantime, how 'bout them Tigers?

Another day, another come-from-behind win.

Seriously, by now, it's getting a bit old, fellas. Perhaps you might spot the other team a few more runs next time, eh?

Really, though, the fella you've gotta feel for is Fausto Carmona. Watch the clip of Pudge's walk-off shot, and you'll see, even as Pudge is rasing his arms in triumph, Carmona is raising his arms equally quickly. It's almost as if they're synchronized, one exulting in the triumph of the Tiger spirit, the other cringing as if he's expecting The Big Tribe Fan in the Sky to smack him with a rolled-up newspaper.

Then again, considering the Indians' manager desire to keep throwing Carmona out there, that might not be such a bad thing.

My brothers and sisters, The Ford comes to you today with the dilemma of pants.

Yes, the dilemma of pants.

Sure, that might just sound like a catchy Paul Simon-esque tune, but really, that's what The Ford was dealing with last week.

Oh, not exclusively. There were plenty of other dilemmae to deal with.

But pants were certainly one of them.

Y'see, as you may've heard from the many sources of Ford and Ford-related news, The Ford was on vacation last week.

It turns out that when The Ford's mind is freed from the drudgery and mindlessness ... er ... thrill and challenge of work, his thoughts turn to fashion.

In short, he turns into Paris Hilton, though without the TV show, millions of dollars, and tiny dog. (Don't worry, he's still got the risque attire and slightly contrived situations to fall back on.)

And thus, pants.

The Ford needs pants.

Sure, he's got pants now, but he's also been losing some weight, and, well, his increasingly baggy pants keep getting caught on the heels of his shoes.

Yeah, yeah, such a tough life.

Trouble is, The Ford is tall. Tall enough to get asked by random people in Dunkin' Donuts about his exact height. (Actually, The Ford supposes this isn't much of a proof of being tall, as much as it is a proof of being some sort of height outlier.)

Of course, he's not quite tall enough to get paid $400K a year to look awkward in nylon warmups and clap for other, much, much, much more talented tall men.

But his legs are. Yeah, legs of a power forward, torso of a pro bowler.

And thus, The Ford tends to get a bit frustrated buying pants.

Turns out that stores anticipate fat people's pants-buying needs pretty well. REALLY well. Seriously, The Ford's getting damn tired of seeing row after row of 42x30 pants, and yet not being able to find a single pair in his size.

They do slightly worse with tall people's pants-buying needs, but still, the thought's there. You'll find the occasional 36 inseam, maybe a 38 even. Of course, they're all with waists of 28 to 32, raising the possibility that stores are really just preparing for the eventual Shawn Bradley/Manute Bol/Yao Ming combined shopping spree.

And somewhere, lost in that Venn diagram, lies The Ford, thick AND tall. Not disturbingly so, at least, not any more so than Jim Thome. Thome, people, Thome.

Yes, The Ford is a man of many contradictions, deep and mysterious in his complexity, all drawn together by a great and abiding fury. Er, Fury.

And that Fury, my friends? It's all about pants.

Y'see, should The Ford actually encounter pants that fit him exactly, he's forced to buy them, right then and there, lest some other Ford-sized (or Thome-sized, as it may be) fellow chance upon them and take advantage of his great fortune. He cannot stop to consider style, or fabric type, because, well, at some point, any jeans are better than walking around in The Official Boxer Briefs. Probably.

The Ford has a dream. The Ford has a dream that, one day, the sons of the fat and the sons of the tall will be able to sit down at a table together, secure in the knowledge that everyone's pants fit well and look good. The Ford has a dream, a dream that he could enter a store, see a pair of pants his size, and be able to walk away, secure in the knowledge that the next store he visits will also have pants his size. Yes, The Ford has a dream, that, someday, he will not judge his pants by the capacity of their construction, but rather by the content of their denim.

And when that day comes, we shall all stand up, the skinny and the stout, the Thome-sized and the tiny, the Hilton heiresses and The Fords, and shout, "Free at last! Free at last! Thank God almighty, we are free at last! Oh, and what do you think of these shoes?"

Tuesday, August 01, 2006

Yes, yes, The Ford's sure you're very bitter about his abrupt departure from The Official Blog over the past week.

And really, The Ford would love to feel bad about that.

But, y'know what?

That's not what The Ford does.

He is a pityless, merciless, guiltless, unstoppable blogging machine.

Even when, y'know, he's ... not.

Then again, you might be the sorta person who didn't even realize The Ford was AWOL.

That's cool, too.

If you're OK with being as emotionally dead as The Ford is, then The Ford's OK with it, too.

Nevertheless, read on for the, er, condensed version of The Official Non-Hawaiian Vacation of The Official Blog of The Ford.

Day 1

The Ford, armed only with a trusty companion from The Official Birth State, his friendship well-honed since their days at The Official Alma Mater, sets out to experience parts of Detroit he's unfamiliar with.

Sure, there may have been a visit to a gentleman's club, but in The Ford's defense, well, it wasn't his idea.

(That's actually the rule for visiting gentleman's clubs: It's OK, as long as it wasn't your idea. Which is why every guy outing with the potential to go wild/crazy includes at least one guy willing to suggest a visit to the strippers. It's similar to how eating someone else's dessert doesn't make you fatter, but with more nudity.)

Day 2

The Ford promises himself no more outings to the gentleman's club. As he finds out later, accuracy with articles is vitally important.

More drinking.

More Golden Tee. (The Ford's dropped 20 strokes off his score in two days. At this rate, he'll be Tiger Woods before too long. Unless his first abysmal score was simply the result of a poor performace, and he doesn't have that much room to improve. The mathematician part of his brain starts charting this as a logarhythmic function, until silenced with a steady flow of alcohol.)

More strip clubs. The Ford realizes he should have specified "no more outings to A gentlemen's club," rather than just that particular gentleman's club. Caught in his grammatical conundrum, he's forced to accompany his group -- "his boys," as 10 beers have inspired him to say repeatedly -- to a different club.

Day 3Road trip -- entirely planned -- to Chicago.Companions' travel snafus force The Ford to hole up in Billy Goat Tavern for several hours. This seems like a good idea at first, with great hamburgers and a White Sox game on the TV. When Old Style No. 6 intersects with Will & Grace episode No. 3, The Ford begins rethinking this.

And thus, a walking tour of downtown Chicago, at least until it gets too hot to walk, and The Ford retreats to the Billy Goat.

More Will & Grace. Seriously, The Ford's beginning to think WGN's getting paid to show it in bulk.

More walking.

Retreat, once more, to the Billy Goat. Finally, Will & Grace is over, and Drew Carey is on. Also, bartender recognizes The Ford, and comps him Old Style No. 9.

A graceful fade to the evening, capped by observing a near-fight in the hotel bar, a game of pinball in the hotel game room, and a beer at a bar that's open till 4-freakin'-a.m., since the hotel room doesn't have any Internet access.

Day 4Pitchfork Music Festival, a.k.a., God's Plan to decimate Hipster Nation.With temperatures AND humidity peaking well above 100, The Ford is an innocent bystander in the horrible heat.

On the plus side, women are scantily clad (When all is said and done, The Ford's pretty sure the inventors of the tube and tank tops are getting in the express line for the promised land upstairs.), bands are pretty good -- especially Ted Leo, Futureheads and Band of Horses -- and water is cheap.

Yes, on this day, hottest of all hot days, The Ford has abandoned the ol' standby, and gone all clear and distilled. And he ain't talking vodka.

The Official Head is hung in shame.

Thankfully, late recovery at bars around town boost ego, if not pocketbook.

Day 5

Day 2 of Pitchfork opens with the promise of cooler temps and rain clouds.

Of course, this turns out to be Mother Nature's bait-and-switch attempt to lure all the hipsters she didn't kill the day before back for another attempt.

Naturally, it worked on The Ford.

Well, really, it was the promise of Jens Lekman and Spoon that nabbed The Ford, but the imminent rain and lack of tickets into Wrigley Field sealed the deal.

And then the rain didn't come.

Then again, The Ford's generally in favor of approaching unconsciousness with the women he's hanging out with. He's just used to doing it on an open bar tab.

More water.

Beer later, once the incompetent hotel staff figured out how to get extra towels to The Ford's room within 90 minutes of the original request.

Day 6: The return to the Motor CityA long, early morning drive, which The Ford was having no part of. (Thanks, trusty Washingtonian compadre!)

Upon arrival, The Ford discovered his cell-phone plan -- long enjoyed for its ease of use and cheapness of payment -- was being discontinued, due to vaguely monopolistic practices of The Official Cell-Phone Provider.

So, of course, The Ford goes and reups with the The Official Cell-Phone Provider. (Hey, they ain't Official for nuthin'.)

Of course, he ended up with a much more kick-ass phone that he has no idea how to use.

Other than the camera-phone option. That, he's got DOOOOWN.

Then again, he's pretty sure retarded monkeys could figure out how to work a camera phone, given enough bananas and women in low-cut blouses.

Still, y'know, that's just not enough spending for The Ford.

So, it's off to Dearborn, for some groceries.

Hey, did you know that the 20 familes with the most annoying kids in Dearborn go grocery shopping at 9:30 p.m. on Monday nights? The Ford didn't, until he became personally acquainted with the majority of them.

Sigh. If only "personally acquainted" was a euphemism for "ran them over with his cart -- twice," and not "attempted to maneuver his cart so as not to ever be in the same row as a child-bearing family."

Finally, a return home to The Official Couch, for a good long, though unexpected, nap, interrupted only by the news that The Ford was needed in the office in the planned Day 7 of his vacation.

(And you wondered what could possibly stop The Ford from blogging for a whole week...)

And thus The Official Non-Hawaiian Vacation came to an end, not with a bang, but with a camera-phone. There's probably a lesson in there, somewhere, but The Ford's justifying his complete lack of photos of hot chicks in this here post. Apparently, the more of a life The Ford has, the less time he has to expound upon Miss Universe. (Yeah, there's an expound/Miss Universe joke in there, too, but The Ford's too sober to make it. Right now, at least.)